If only Patrick had trusted me with it, perhaps his sacrifice wouldn’t have been necessary. I have finally found my enemy!
Of all possible scenarios, he never would have guessed his enemy hid at the Groom Lake facility. It did make a certain twisted sense. The CIA had already admitted to UFO disinformation, and what better place for a secret government agency?
A large number of Air Force personnel lived in the Las Vegas area, but the number of pilots employed by the URS Corporation dwarfed any legitimate need. The number of Janet flights from McCarran International Airport to and from the Groom Lake facility provided the perfect cover.
There were also a large number of false identities between the age of twenty-five and forty in the Las Vegas area. It was the prime age for information technology analysts, which his enemy required in large quantities.
It took some digging, but he confirmed a massive amount of fiber-optic cable had been installed after 9/11 along an abandoned railroad north of the city, and a junction from that backbone routed north to Groom Lake.
And, finally, the Lotus Blossom had tagged a man named Hobert Barnhart. The Barnhart identity had once worked in Washington for a government agency called the Office of Threat Management.
As far as he could determine, the Office of Threat Management did not exist. He had been ready to file that name away as meaningless until he’d found an obscure reference to an allocation of fifty million dollars in the 1961 government budget. Adjusted for inflation, it was the equivalent of over three hundred and fifty million dollars.
What could they have done with that sum of money?
The more he thought about it, the more he realized what could be done with that much money. He had experience with that very thing, after all.
Assuming the agency went into the black budget, and multiplying that amount over the years, there can be only one conclusion — the Office of Threat Management is my enemy.
The Lotus Blossom had unraveled the greatest mystery in the world, and he was about to disclose the Office of Threat Management to the world. Combined with the other recent disclosures, it would undermine the very fabric of the United States’ democracy.
And, I still have the package in the basement, America will soon crumble.
“Is the Gulfstream ready?” Eric asked.
Greg Clayberg turned in the pilot’s seat. “I’m just going through the preflight checklist. We’ll be ready in five.”
“Good,” Eric said. “This should be a quick trip to Orlando.”
“Can we go to Disney World?” Greg asked. “I’ve always wanted to go to Disney World.”
Eric snorted. “You wish. We’re picking up a passenger and then we’ll turn and burn back to the base.”
“Huh,” Greg said. “I’d be a lot more excited if we were going to Disney World.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, Hot Dog, but we’re not going to be there that long.”
“We never are,” Greg grumbled.
The Gulfstream’s radio squawked and a woman’s voice came through the speaker. “Is Steeljaw on the plane?”
Eric grabbed the mic. “I’m here, Karen.”
“We’ve got a problem, boss. A big problem.”
“How big?” Eric asked.
“You’re gonna need to sit down.”
Karen’s ashen face filled the flat-screen monitor, and she spoke so fast she stumbled over her words. “Slow down,” Eric said. “Take a breath.”
“I’m trying, boss. Someone identified the Office of Threat Management, and they discovered a bunch of our fake identities. They even know we’re at Area 51!”
“What else did they learn?”
“They’ve guessed at our mission, and believe me, boss, they’re pretty accurate.”
Eric resisted the urge to smash his fist against the thin plastic table. “I’m sure the president will be calling.”
“This is bad,” Karen said. “With this and the financials… it’s going to be pretty easy to find us. I know Smith was a genius about keeping the OTM secret, but this looks… bad. Really, really bad.”
Eric bit back his frustration. “Is there anything we can use to determine who is behind the leak?”
“Not that I can see, although the only OTM member directly named by both his real name and cover name is Doctor Elliot.”
Eric blinked. “That’s… interesting. Of all people, why him?”
“I don’t know, boss. Maybe someone has it out for him?”
“Nathan Elliot doesn’t exist anymore. How could anyone have a beef with him?”
Karen’s eyes widened. “John’s escape from the hospital in Zürich? Could someone know Elliot created the StrikeForce technology?”
“Put Dewey on tracing the leak,” Eric said. “We’ve got to find out who’s behind this.”
The door to the Gulfstream opened, and Nancy climbed the steps. She saw his face and said, “What’s wrong?”
“Seriously?” Karen asked. “You’re still leaving? We need you in the War Room.”
“There’s been a complication,” Eric said to Nancy. “Tell her.”
As Karen described the situation, Nancy’s eyes grew cold. When Karen stopped speaking, Nancy turned to him. “This is how you run the OTM?”
“That’s not fair,” Karen said. “You can’t blame Eric—”
Nancy stabbed at the coms button, and Karen disappeared on the screen. “You’re not fit to be the director.”
“Really?” Eric asked softly. “You told your father a couple of months ago that I was the perfect man to run the OTM.”
Nancy crossed her arms. “That was before.”
Clayberg opened the cockpit door and poked his head through. “Ready for takeoff?”
“Get this bird up in the air,” Eric said.
Clayberg saw the look on Nancy’s face, and his friendly smile faltered. “Okay, then. On into the great blue yonder.” He turned and slammed the cockpit door behind him.
“I don’t think he likes the way you glare at him,” Eric said.
“You must deal with this,” Nancy said heatedly. “We’re in a crisis, and people have lost trust in you. You can’t just shrug it off.”
“We’re going to get your mother. That’s the mission. Once she’s safe and sound, I’ll deal with the rest.”
“You’re going to sit there and continue as if nothing is wrong?”
“We have our mission,” Eric said. “Feelings are just how we process our emotions, and if there’s one thing I learned in Delta, it’s how to deal with my emotions. I’m angry and afraid. I’m even a little hungry, but I’m putting everything out of my mind and focusing on the mission. One thing at a time, Nancy. That’s something you need to work on.”
She continued to glare at him as the Gulfstream taxied onto the runway and shot into the sky.
Barbara Novak nodded as the six men and one woman filed into the dank room located under the basement of the Russell Senate Office Building. There was barely enough room for them around the battered wooden table, and the ancient lightbulbs above did little to illuminate their faces.
To her left sat Peter Lampert, the Senate Majority Leader. His face was covered in shadows, which made his weathered face look like it was made of old shoe leather. He cleared his throat. “You better have a good reason for calling us together. This new leak—”
“We are here,” Barbara said, “because we are the Gang of Eight. We are supposed to receive security briefings on everything but extraordinary circumstances.” She pointed at him. “You’ve read the leak about the Office of Threat Management?”